


All Possible Worlds

by tieria



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V
Genre: Alternate Universe, Android AU, Drabble Collection, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-03 17:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5300435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tieria/pseuds/tieria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shun/Dennis + dennis gen drabble collection.<br/>Currently: android AU preview + dishonored au (ruri pov)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the one where Shun has wings

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing a lot of arc v drabbles as practice for style and as warmups, so I thought I'd start posting some. And as usual, shunden has taken over my life so...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone reminded me that wingfic is a thing. This was the result of that. Takes place from the beginning of arc v to sometime in an alternate synchro arc, kind of like Interest does.

His wings attract attention.

They’re too large to fit comfortably under his cloak, no matter how he folds them, and brown feathers streaked with black peek out from underneath the edges. He feels cramped and uncomfortable, and longs terribly for the sky.

Yuuto sends him sympathetic glances whenever they meet and Shun gets the chance to stretch out his wings- but that’s all it is, sympathy. Yuuto, with his delicate black raven’s wings, too small to fly, could never understand the thrill of the open skies. And then Yuuto is gone, and there’s no one left to offer even that.

:::

His second duel with Sora sends him tumbling down a flight of stairs, landing hard on his left wing. He feels fragile bones crack and shatter, and he struggles to ignore the pain and stagger to his feet.

He ignores it for the rest of the day, but feels the blood trickle down his back, feels the tips of his primary flight feathers brush the ground. Akaba Reiji has him sent to the hospital the moment he lays eyes on him. Shun’s feathers are still dragging on the ground and at that point, he’s almost grateful. Almost.

The Leo hospital doctors stand around and gawk at him as if they’ve never seen an avian before- _they haven’t_ , he has to remind himself.

One of the nurses timidly suggests that they call a veterinarian. Shun glares, dares them to try treating him like an animal.

(They call the veterinarian anyway.

She’s a small, timid woman up until the moment she sees the x-rays, when she turns on him with all the force of a scolding mother.

“We need to set these bones, now,” she says to the doctors, who hesitate half a second before bursting into a flurry of action. Then, to Shun- “I’m going to be blunt and say I don’t know _what the hell_ you were thinking. We’re going to have to tape this. You’re not flying for a long while.”)

When Shun wakes again, his wing is secured gently but firmly to his side. The Lancers drag him along to Synchro, and the skies are still denied to him. And it’s a shame, he thinks, because the City’s sky is just as blue and almost as wide as Heartland’s.

:::

Dennis reaches out to run his fingers across his feathers, and Shun pulls back instinctively, jerking the broken wing back with a jolt of pain. Dennis’ hand pauses awkwardly in midair, then lowers slowly back to his side.

“Sorry,” he says, “Your feathers were starting to get dull. I know you can’t get to most of them now, so I…”

Shun scoffs. “You wouldn’t know what you’re doing anyway.”

“I’ve had birds before, Kurosaki. A dove.”

It sends a pang of nostalgia through Shun to hear Dennis say that, brings back memories of Ruri and her white wings spread wide, white wings stained black with dust and ash, white wings stained red with the blood of their comrades. He gets up and leaves without another word to Dennis.

:::

He dreams of the days of the Resistance. He dreams of the early days, where they hadn’t yet consolidated, where they hadn’t yet realized that Academia’s soldiers were taking more trophies than just cards.

They had heard the call for help, they had heard the boy scream-

And they had arrived, but arrived too late. His wings were already severed, already plucked clean by Academia’s soldiers, feathers gathered up like gold in their hands-

Shun wakes with an ache where his wings meet skin that has nothing to do with the damage Sora had done.

:::

He gives in, eventually. He’s cleaned what he can reach, but without the ability to move his wing, he feels the grime and dust collecting on the backs of his feathers. It’s a disgusting feeling. Dennis keeps sending him pointed glances, and Shun just gives in to the bad idea.

With his luck, Shun thinks, Dennis would end up preening one of his bloodfeathers. Shun says as much to Dennis, and Dennis just laughs him off.

“Have some faith in me, Kurosaki.” Dennis sits down next to him, reaches out for his wing. Shun fights the instinct to pull away.

After a few long minutes, Shun – _grudgingly_ \- has to admit that Dennis actually does know what he’s doing. His fingers card through his feathers, dusting the flight feathers with water, spreading oil over the rest with a gentle rhythm.

It’s relaxing. Infuriatingly relaxing, Shun realizes as his eyes start to slip closed, as Dennis’ hands creep closer to his back and he instinctively starts to lean back into the touch. Shun straightens up abruptly, blinks himself back into awareness.

He feels Dennis break into a grin, hears it in the lilt of his voice. “See?”

Shun makes a noncommittal grunt. Dennis just chuckles in reply, aligning a few of the covert feathers that had been ruffled in his sleep. A moment of silence as Shun is drawn back into the rhythm, then Dennis starts to hum, low and soft. It seems to Shun like something Ruri would have listened to, a ballad that sounds how the long days of summer feel.

It reminds him of home, but it doesn’t change a thing. With every bit of resolve he possesses, Shun does not stop doubting Dennis.


	2. "i'll wait for you in hell"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurosaki Ruri is dead. Long live the traitor.  
> [potential warnings for blood, injury, and character death]

This isn’t the kind of thing that Dennis has ever wanted to do- bloodshed is much more Yuuri’s style than his. But his hand had been forced, and the knife in his hand drips sweet red. Ruri had trusted him until the final moment, had showed him her back and hadn’t lived to regret it.

He turns to the sound of footfalls. They stop abruptly at the entrance to the prison hallway.

“Kurosaki,” he says, standing over Ruri’s body, his sweetest smile painted on his lips, “It’s nice to see you again.”

Shun rushes him. Dennis slips out of the way with speed he very rarely has to use, and Shun is caught off-balance, trying to adjust. Dennis slams an elbow into his back, sending him sprawling to the ground.

A click of his tongue, a wave of his finger at Shun. “Not even a hello? You’re so cold, Kurosaki.”

Shun pulls himself back to his feet. “Cold? My sister is _dead_ and you expect me to be happy to see you?”

Dennis shrugs, grand and with an exaggerated flick of his wrists. Flecks of blood splatter on the grey stone wall from the tip of his knife. “You were happy to see me after you knew I was Academia. What does some blood between us change anything?”

Shun bristles, tainted memories brought back to the surface. “I’m going to kill you,” he says, low and with a dark gravity about him.

“Oh? How terrifying,” Dennis replies, “Though whether you can actually do it or not…”

“Shut up,” Shun says and comes at him again, blade flashing fast. Dennis dances easily out of the way, not striking, not yet. Without a wasted moment, Shun turns on him, gets ready to strike while Dennis’ guard is down-

All it takes is one word. A little bit of shock in his voice, a little bit of softness around his eyes-

“ _Shun.”_

Shun hesitates maybe half a second at best. It’s enough. Dennis sinks the blade of his knife deep into Shun’s gut and pulls, drags it across and watches as blood spurts from the open wound, stains his blue uniform red as Shun sags against him before Dennis pushes him off.

Shun staggers backwards, falls with his back against the cell bars. He presses one hand to his wound, drops his knife and grabs Ruri’s cold hand with his other.

“Let me know how hell is,” Dennis says. He smiles, wonders if Shun will return it.

Shun laughs, blood trickling from between his lips, blood gushing out around his fingers. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Shun heaves a few more long, shaky breaths before he slumps over, hand still in Ruri’s. He’s not dead yet, Dennis knows- it’ll take another minute for the blood loss to get him- but he’s close enough, and Dennis turns away, back towards the exit.

There’s someone else watching him, eyes wide but unreadable.

“They were your friends,” Sora accuses, standing frozen in the doorframe. He’s thinking of Yuzu and Yuuya. It's written in the wavering in Sora's eyes. Dennis spares a moment to think of them too, wonders if Sora will turn his blade on him as Dennis brushes past.

“They were.”


	3. [snippet] Heartland Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shameless fluff from a series of things I haven't typed up yet in which Dennis is from the xyz dimension and ends up in Heartland as a transfer student.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:  
> 1\. I hope it surprises literally no one that I have a shunden Heartland AU that's more or less just dumb fluff and no one gets hurt (yet...). One day I'll get around to typing it all up. One day.  
> 2\. This particular piece of shameless fluff is inspired by the one of the Japanese shunden twitter bots, but apparently I lost the link to the actual tweet.

“It’s showtime!” Dennis claps his hands together, and flowers appear in an instant, a tiny bouquet of daisies from the garden in the Kurosaki family backyard.

Ruri picks the flowers daintily from his hand, and with a wave of her own they’re gone, replaced with a magic wand. “Welcome, family and friends,” she says, “to the first-ever magic show of our humble little company.”

Dennis grabs the brim of his hat with two fingers and flips it down to eye level, shakes it out for their audience of two to see. With a wave of her wand over its top and a tiny puff of smoke from the hat, the Kurosaki family bluebird appears, flying out uncharacteristically calm. The bird flutters around the room for a bit before settling on Dennis’ outstretched finger.

If his grin is a bit more smug than usual when he settles his hat back atop his head, well, it’s definitely not because he catches Shun mutter bitterly under his breath to Yuuto, “Of course the bird listens to _him_.”

The rest of the show goes smoothly for the most part, and they manage to pull smiles from their audience despite a few mishaps here and there- or perhaps, Dennis starts to think, because of them. By the time Ruri curtsies and Dennis takes a deep bow, there’s glitter scattered across the floor, the bluebird is perching on Dennis’ hat, and Ruri’s somehow managed to get Yuuto in a flower crown.

It’s the most fun Dennis has had in weeks. “So? How was it?”

“Great,” Yuuto says, “the kids are going to love it.”

Dennis turns his expectant gaze on Shun, who thinks for a moment, then- “Ten out of ten.”

“Oooooh? That’s so generous of you, Sh-“

Shun interrupts without breaking eye contact. “But only for Ruri. You were a five.”

“Huh? Out of five, right?” Dennis tries, inching closer to Shun.

“Out of ten,” Shun replies. In the background, Ruri sighs, sensing the incoming storm.

Dennis squeezes between Shun and Yuuto, leaning well into Shun’s personal space. “What, that’s it? Is it because you didn’t get any flowers?”

And- yep, there’s still a flower tucked up his sleeve. He tucks it behind Shun’s ear with an overly cheery smile. Behind them, Yuuto and Ruri snicker. Shun glares daggers at him, but it’s too amused to be effective. “Fine,” he says, “Six out of ten.”

Dennis mimes a knife to the heart. “You’re so cruel to me, Shun.”

“It’s above average,” Shun fires back, and oh, Dennis thinks, if it’s a game backhanded compliments and insults they’re playing today…

“Now, you outrank me in a lot, Shun, but on a scale from you to Ruri, wouldn’t you say I’m a little closer to Ruri? After all, I still remember the time you-“

“Seven and a half.” Shun’s response is almost instantaneous. Blackmail, Dennis thinks with no small amount of satisfaction, is always a relevant means of getting what he wants. But it’s not quite enough, not today.

“So that makes you, what, a seven at best? And here I thought you had the potential to be an eight, at least… Sorry to see I was wrong,” Dennis says, just this side of nonchalant, daring Shun to push the arbitrary rating higher.

At this point, Dennis thinks, it doesn’t matter what they had started on in the first place, just that he’s starting to lean in dangerously close, even before he gets his answer.

“I can’t believe you. Stop flirting in the living room, will you?” Ruri says between giggles, and Dennis cranes his head back to wink at her.

“What can I say,” he says, holding his hat steady so the bluebird can stay perched on it, “I’m good at handling birds.”

Ruri bursts into hysterical laughter at that. “Eight,” Shun mutters under his breath, and Dennis can’t help the chuckle that escapes him, that sends the bluebird flying from his hat in search of stable ground.

He leans forward. Ruri has just enough time to force out, “ _Seriously, you two, no flirting in_ -“ though her giggles before it’s too late.


	4. 200/100/500

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is going to break. Dennis has come to the realization that it’s going to be him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. A 200-word drabble I wrote back in August of 2015. It's kind of funny to see how I got the sentiment right in all the wrong ways.  
> 2\. I had a feeling about Dennis the other day (by which I mean... last year...) waiting in the train station and it happened to be exactly 100 words.  
> 3\. Dennis has a new hobby. It irritates Shun, up until the moment it doesn't. Well, not quite as much, anyway. (This is a seiyuu crossover, of sorts, and a stress ficlet.)

1. 

It was only a matter of time before the Lancers made it to Academia, Dennis thinks, adjusting the collar of his shirt. Kurosaki needs an enemy to fight against now that all his dreams are rubble and ash behind him. He’s simple that way, and the thought pulls a smile from Dennis’ lips.

He hears two sets of footsteps, one heavy and echoing, the other lighter but with just as much haste behind them, just as much determination. Dennis steps out from behind the pillar with a cheery smile and a wave. Kurosaki and Gongenzaka skid to a halt in front of him.

“Dennis,” Gongenzaka starts, but Kurosaki cuts him off with an arm thrown outwards. His duel disk flashes to life. Dennis responds in kind.

“Go,” Kurosaki says with an incline of his head, “I’ll take care of him.”

Gongenzaka hesitates for a half-second then nods, sprinting past Dennis with everything he’s got. Dennis makes no move to stop him. He hadn’t expected Kurosaki to still be on speaking terms with the Lancers, let alone trust someone who wasn’t him to go after Ruri-

He’s glad, in an abstract way, that at least one of them managed to change.

* * *

2. 

Dennis doesn't want an easy forgiveness. He could have it, if he wanted- he could plead and beg and sink to his knees before them and say all the words they want to hear.

(He'd rehearsed them, once upon a time, when he'd dreamed of being bolder. 'I'm sorry, I had to, they gave me no choice-')

But he can't stand a difficult path to forgiveness either. He can't think of standing before Shun and Ruri with his head ducked and spouting apologies nowhere near enough.

He want to help. He wants to make amends.

(He can't.)

(He never could.)

* * *

3. 

Dennis takes too many pictures. Shun doesn't know why this bothers him, exactly, just that he knows it's too many- the snap of a camera. Shun glares in Dennis’ direction. He's flashed an entirely unapologetic smile in return as Dennis waves the Polaroid.

And too many of him, especially.

“Will you cut it out,” he says, not a request.

Dennis turns him down regardless, snapping another shot of him while the camera is still half in motion. Shun just sighs and turns away. It’s pointless, he thinks, when he’s apparently the only one bothered.

But still. He can't help but wonder what Dennis  _ does _ with all the photos. He's seen a few turn up, set in the clear slot of Yuuto’s wallet, stuck in the pocket of Sora's backpack, taped to Ruri's wall-  but Dennis takes far more than he gives, and Shun has never once seen him throw a shot away. Not even the blurry shot of the neighborhood cat as it dashed startled through the frame, an orange streak across the front lawn, or the one accidental close-up of the back of Yuuya’s head- or at least, Shun  _ thinks _ it’s one of the back of Yuuya’s head. There’s only so many things those exact shades of green and red that aren’t Christmas decorations.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts. Dennis’ room is crowded but habitually neat, save for his desk, where pictures are sprawled across it haphazard. A few steps closer reveal that it’s not just the desk- pictures are stuffed between the pages of books and mixed in with spare props, practically overflowing from the few albums stacked one atop the other.

“Oh,” he hears from the door, and Shun spins to face Dennis, who’s watching him with a strange expression. It’s one of those that Shun can’t read- too complex and gone too fast to make any sense of. But that’s nothing new, when it comes to them, and so Shun cuts straight to the point.

“Why do you need this many?” Shun asks, waving a hand at the desk.

Dennis doesn’t answer. Shun goes to try and taunt it out of him, but then Dennis averts his eyes and Shun thinks better of it. He glances back at the photos instead.

Ruri, sitting with Yuuto as the latter leans over to try a bite of her crepe. Grace and Gloria, dueling unseen opponents with the lights of a grand stage raining down on them. Yuuya and Yusho, waving at the camera with matching sets of smiles. Ed posing with a group of Xyz children, all striking elaborate poses. Shun himself, drenched from a late afternoon rain and dragged begrudgingly into a selfie with an equally soaked but enthusiastic Dennis. 

“I've never had so many things to live for,” Dennis admits, quiet.

And Shun- Shun grabs the camera from the desk. The shutter snaps. Dennis looks back at him, startled.

“Returning the favor,” he says, smiles. After a moment, Dennis mirrors it, wider and relieved.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The seiyuu in question is Kakihara Tetsuya, who voices not only Dennis but Prompto from FFXV, which at first I didn't realize but now cannot unhear. Hence, Dennis' new hobby.)


	5. more wingfic but. also blood (?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a missing scene from the interest timeline, but with wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for blood (?) and (non-acted upon) destructive impulses. it's not that graphic or anything i don't think but??  
> okay, this one I know why I held off for so many months on posting. if bloody (?) imagery is not your thing, you're going to want to skip down to the line that starts off with: "The clap of a hand on his shoulder."

The scar on his stomach itches, red and inflamed and just begging for Shun to dig in his nails and rip it back open again. It's an intrusive thought, the way Shun sometimes wonders what it would feel like if his wings were pulled from him feather by feather, the way he's seen it done to his comrades. He can practically feel the sensation of the first flight being pulled from him- one of his longest, pure black. The ones he's proudest of. They would twist, fingers almost gentle as they traced the length of it, then yank, hard and fast and with a grin they don't realize is vicious. But he'd sooner die than let Academia near his wings and rage burns through him at the thought of what they might have done to Ruri's. 

(It would go like this- he'd dig in his fingers like talons and pull, watch the stitches tear at his reddened skin, and blood would stain the color of the rest.)

Once they'd had their fun with his feathers, taking their trophies, they would move to the wing, aiming to cripple. He'd thrash again the boots crushing the fragile bones of his wing, holding them down and letting the snap of bone fuel his anger.

They would take it with the kiss of the knife where wing meets flesh, the slow press of the blade into the joint-

The clap of a hand on his shoulder. Shun startles, his wings flaring out briefly. He's long since grown unused to anyone being able to sneak up on him.

"You looked serious," Dennis says, too cheerful for the dark mood Shun has found himself in.

"It's none of your business," retorts Shun, who stands from the couch and starts back to his room. He shouldn't have come out the bedroom in the first place, he thinks. The last thing he needs is Dennis interfering, trying to offer something comforting. Phantom fingers run through his ruffled feathers, the melody of the kind of song Ruri would like running through his mind at the thought. 

(He'd rather Dennis dig his fingers into his feathers and  _ pull, _ to be the Academia spy Shun suspects him to be- because then he can fight back. This half-formed dance of theirs, made of barbed words and instinctive accusations, is not to his taste. He suspects it is to Dennis', and, well, isn't that all the more reason to hate it.)

Shun shakes his head and brushes past Dennis, who ignores Shun's brisk dismissal and follows him to his room. Shun holds the edge of the door and glares, hoping Dennis will take the hint.

He doesn't.

"Leave," he wants to say, but Dennis makes it too easy to be angry at him, taunts him at every turn and begs his wrath. It's as if Dennis is waiting for the fallout of his explosion, leaning casually against the doorframe with the smug kind of attitude that makes Shun want nothing more than to prove him wrong.

He says instead, "Do you want something?"

"Glad to see your dueling is better than your conversational skills." He pauses, then- "I'm bored, Kurosaki. You're the only person here to talk to."

"What do we have to talk about?" The topics are limited. The City, misplaced Heartland nostalgia? Manufactured stories of a life lived at LDS?

"Tell me about Heartland," Dennis says, and Shun narrows his eyes.

"Tell me about LDS."

A melodramatic sigh accompanies another one of Dennis’ hopeless looks. The edge of challenge about him is gone, retreated back beneath that easy entertainer’s confiance. 

"You couldn't have picked a less interesting topic now, could you?" When that fails to pull a response from Shun, Dennis shrugs and continues, "It wasn't much different than any other premier duel school. The theory class no one actually likes, plenty of practical exams, on top of regular classes.”

"Sounds like Heartland's," Shun grudgingly admits. 

"Like I said, all the same." Dennis says, with a vaguely amused smile that Shun likes to imagine he does not realize is cruel.

(He is looking, he realizes, distant and ultimately inconsequential, for an excuse to fight that will never come.)

“Though, my branch of LDS had acting classes, too. It's not Broadway without theatre, after all.” 

The conversation lulls as Dennis waits for a reaction that Shun is determined not to give. The moment lingers, the silence hovers on the edge of awkward. But if nothing else, Shun has learned in this first duel of theirs that Dennis is oddly persistent.

“So,” Dennis continues, “what about Heartland's? Have any good stories?”

Heartland's schools were the last strongholds to fall, and their halls echo with bitter memories. Shun takes careful measures not to get lost in them. 

“We all belonged to the same school, one that specialized in training pro duelists.” He adds, hoping the sharpness of his tone will end the conversation, “but we lost all of that in the invasion.”

“That's nice,” Dennis mutters under his breath, clearly not meant to be heard. 

And Shun can't help the reply that flies from him, indignant, “That my sister was captured? That those Academia bastards are-”  _ hurting her tearing her wings from her  _ “doing who knows what while we sit here and wait for a tournament that might not get us anywhere?”

“To belong somewhere.”

Shun stops thinking.

Dennis looks no different than before, still meeting Shun's gaze with a deliberate smile that suddenly feels fake for all the wrong reasons. 

“Come on,” Shun says abruptly, “this room is huge. There had to be something better to do than stand here talking about nothing.”

They find, eventually, a harmless-looking dice board game shoved under a bedside table, clearly left behind by the place’s previous occupants. As the City’s news broadcast drones on in the background, they play,  and the talk turns back to the inconsequential.

But still, Shun searches Dennis’ words, rolls them over in his mind long after they've retired to their separate rooms, searching for the double meaning.

(His mind is clear again, and he can see where this path of casual, misplaced kindness will take them- Dennis will be a card between his fingers like feathers crushed in students’ hands, and it will be so damn  _ satisfying _ -)

It's possible, he finally has to admit, that for once, perhaps all Dennis had wanted was what he had asked for. A conversation, no more, no less.

(He will win, because he has won every duel that really matters. 

The metal edge of the blade would scrape against bone and blood would stain him red. Resistance, until the very end.)


	6. [tumblr] can you hear me / good riddance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation, far too soft, before a final confrontation that never was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A repost of a promptfic from february of 2016 that never made it over here. Still not sure how I feel about it but.

Academia is a surprisingly vast building, a maze of winding halls and doors thrown open to reveal empty classrooms, to reveal desperate soldiers preparing to make their last stand. Echoes chase him down the corridor, the metallic clangs of monsters matching blades, of claws scratching at brick walls and the low hum of collapse beneath the screams, the shouts, the chaos. The cacophony of sounds like memories has rung loud in his ears since they arrived in Academia, but as Shun slows at a crossroads and stares down each empty hall in turn- here, it is quiet.

“Macfield!” he calls, waiting for a telltale flash of pale blue or dusty orange. His own voice echoes back to him, loud but fading fast.

“Dennis,” he tries again, softer this time. “You can hear me, can’t you?” The corridors respond only with their silence.

There are places he needs to be, people he needs to be supporting, and if Shun strains, he can still hear the faint sounds of duelists clashing in the distance, the sounds of their shouts and yells as they advance, as they struggle. But none of them have the voice he wants to hear.

“I know you can hear me,” Shun rephrases, and turns to face down another empty hall. Perhaps he’s spilling his last thoughts to the empty air. But when he’s had a choice, Dennis has never backed away from one of his challenges. Shun wants to think that the same goes for his confessions.

“I don’t forgive you,” he starts, “You lied to me.”

He lied and he lied, and occasionally parts of Shun still want to love him despite it. Twice he’s cut them out and twice the empty spaces have knit themselves back together, weak but persistent emotions. _Mistakes,_ he thinks, that make him soft towards the wrong person. _Mistakes_ , he thinks, that he’s grown too fond of to take back.

There is a great, resounding crash from afar that bounces off the walls, and Shun can smell the smoke, can practically taste the ashen air that hung heavy over Heartland in the first days after the invasion. When he speaks, his mouth has gone dry and his lips cling to the words. “You ruined my home.”

He doesn’t apologize for doing the same to Academia now. He knows Dennis well enough to understand that Academia is less a home and more a place he’s doomed to return to, time after time. He’s not sure if he’s grateful or resentful that he has the knowledge, but he has it all the same.

“And if Ruri…,” he falters, doesn’t want to think about the fact that they’ve been searching for hours and still not found her- “If Ruri’s not okay at the end of all this, I never will.”

But she _will_ be okay. That too is something he knows, better than Dennis, better than himself.

He says, finally- “Help me find her. Help us defeat Academia. The Lancers would take you back.”

Shun stands still, waits for Dennis’ response- but as the silence grows thick around him, Shun can’t help but wonder if he’d been mistaken after all.

_Say something_ , those spaces in him beg in a way he’ll never put to words, _prove you can be the person I thought you were._

:::

“Are you going to answer me? Or are you going to run again?” Shun calls down the hall. Dennis leans back against a bend in the wall, lets the words wash over him. It’s his chance to say a hundred things, to spill out all his regrets and fall back into Shun’s arms- (because Shun, for some godforsaken reason, would _let_ him-)

But he lied and he lied until the mask became the man and his regrets overflowed from the cracks in the person he was supposed to be. It would be a matter of child’s play to fall back into that persona, that amalgamation of everything anyone could ever possibly want him to be- (the person that _Shun_  wants him to be-)

And yet.

He stands and stills his breath, lets the silence stretch.

“Fine,” Shun snaps, “be a coward then.”

Dennis has had enough of being loved for his regrets. If Shun still can’t see that, he thinks, then so be it.

“Good riddance,” he says to the sound of Shun’s retreating footsteps. It is a hollow-sounding finality- but perhaps that’s just the way his whisper echoes off stone walls.

He pushes himself off the wall. He has places to be now, people counting on him for a cause that he’s only been growing more and more certain that he can’t facilitate. He walks slowly down the hall, trusting that Shun won’t look back. It is the end, but the thread that links them has not yet snapped .

They’ve one more meeting between them yet, and the next won’t be nearly so sentimental. But that’s all right, Dennis figures. He deserves Shun’s anger far more than he deserves his mercy.


	7. [tumblr/gen] bitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But Dennis never wanted to be a duelist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dennis-centric vent drabble that got out of hand; ooc-ness i tried and failed to bring back into canon.
> 
> two reasons for this one: i always generally tend to write dennis with a very specific mix/level of factors. i needed to vent some other emotions and, well. i thought it would be interesting to try them out on a little different version of dennis. the second one is: my favorite shunden artist on pixiv always put dennis in red and i’ve never tried writing pre-series dennis so! hey why not

_Pick a card, any card-_

A shuffling of cards, the soft slide of smooth back against shiny front.

_You’re sure you want that one?_

Teasing, just the hint of a laugh around the edges of his lips.

_If he spent half the time he wasted on ridiculous tricks on his dueling, he’d be in Obelisk Blue by the end of the month. Or even one of the honors student spies!_ the teachers whispered behind his back, unaware he could hear.

_Why don’t we have him kicked out? Of course, insubordination here might mean something more like imprisonment…_ Or perhaps they knew full well that he was listening. Maybe they thought it was the push he needed to apply himself. The teachers laughed.

He turned to them and flashed his brightest, showman’s smile. He waved. They did not return it. Smile imperceptibly bitter, he thought- _I never wanted to be a duelist anyway._ His heart belonged to the stage. The sights, the sounds, the spectacle, and the glimmer of the spotlight as it flickered to life to rain down on him- that was the world he loved. That was the world his parents had pulled him away from without a second thought.

_There’s soon to be a war on_ , his father had said, stiff and distant as always.

_But I’m not a duelist,_ he had protested, turning to his mother, trying to judge her reaction in the pixelated screen.

_Nonsense_ , she had replied, _didn’t you just tell me you duel backstage with the rest of the cast? Why not put those skills of yours to good use?_

They had sent him away on the next boat to Academia with only three day’s warning. (He hadn’t even gotten to perform his final show with the rest of the cast that weekend. His final bow had already passed him by, taken when he hadn’t realized how much he should savor it. What he learned from that was this- everything must come to an end. Even his performance. Even him.)

_Now, make sure to remember it carefully…_

He didn’t place well at the entrance examinations. (It wasn’t as if he tried particularly hard.) He was handed a red jacket and a schedule to follow and pushed along without a second thought. “Classes,” if one could call them that, were much the same. They were to be soldiers, wielding Ancient Gears as their weapon of choice. One after another, lined up so as to be indistinguishable, invisible within the mob.

He couldn’t say he had much taste for it.

The sound of a bell rang out across the campus, signaling the start of practical classes. A line of Reds dragged their feet towards the training grounds, and a few waved him over. He considered them for a moment, then pulled his deck from his disk and flopped down in the middle of the courtyard lawn.

He’d rather practice his card tricks, instead.

_Is this your card?_

Ignoring the teacher’s snide chuckles, he drew the top card of his shuffled extra deck and flipped it over with a flourish. Trapeze Force Witch stared up at him, his good luck charm caught between gloved fingers. _That’s it?_ the card seemed to say to him, _You’re going to let them treat you like everything you’ve loved since you were seven is nothing?_

He thought about it for a moment, then- _No._

_It is, you say?_

Sneaking into the teacher’s lounge was a simple matter. Getting his hands on recording equipment was a little less so, but Ms. Tome at the school store had agreed to let him owe her one.

( _You’re too good for this place,_ he told her as he stuffed the equipment into his bag. She had smiled at him with an expression so very, very familiar, and said- _So are you, Dennis. So are you._ )

She agreed to let him owe her two when she helped him rig the broadcasting equipment to play his tape rather than the next day’s morning announcements.

( _Repay me_ , she had said, _with some truly excellent card tricks._ He had smiled, and replied- _Oh, I’ll do more than that. I’ll put on an entire show._ )

The tape rolled. From his seat near the back of the classroom, he watched as one Red ducked his head, not sure if he was being called out or just being publically embarrassed.

_What kind of falsified nonsense_ \- the teacher said, seemingly calm. But he could see the way panic flit across their eyes, their movements, just the slightest bit erratic. He could see, and the hints of a smile curled their way to the edges of his upturned lips.

Another girl stood as her name was brought up, her chair clattering to the floor as she slammed her hands on her desk. She accused, voice straining like a wire ready to spark- _I know I’m not a good duelist, but_ _I thought you were here to help us learn!_

_I_ _assure you,_ the teacher scrambled, _this is all just a fake broadcast made to-_

But the spark had fanned its way into a riot, the Reds on their feet and demanding answers. The teacher scanned wild eyes over the classroom, then settled on him. They teacher pushed their way through the crowd, storming over to him with a fury he only wanted to provoke, to watch explode.

_Macfield,_ the teacher snarled, pulling him up by the red of his jacket collar. He did not flinch at the venom placed on his name. (He hasn’t felt like himself for a very long time, you see.)

He drew a small microphone from his pocket, and put on the same smile from the other day. “Is this your card?”

_How did I know, you ask? Well…_

“Macfield,” the Professor said, and he held his breath, waiting. “Why did you do this?”

It’s all a game, he realized, a production where he’s the puppet. He can’t fight it, only be dragged along on his strings by the whims of others. It’s all a game, and he’s a piece, not a player. But there is a right answer to this question, and there’s no reason he can’t decide what kind of piece he wants to be.

_Self-preservation_ , he wants to say. “For the good of the other students at Academia. If they can’t properly deal with a few delinquents, what good will they be in a war?”

The Professor made a small sound that could have meant anything. After a moment, he said, “You’re a fine actor.”

For a moment, his heart stopped. He tightened his mask until there was nothing left of him, until all he knew was the recognition-seeking Red. It wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be.  

The Professor continued- “I have a position for you among the spies we’re training to send out. You’ll be free to take up whatever cover you wish, as long as it allows you to make progress towards finding the girl with this bracelet.”

Dennis hid his smile. A small voice, suffocated in the back of his mind breathed out- _finally_.

_Now, promise you’ll keep this a secret._

He was in Xyz, wandering the streets of the city called Heartland for no more than two minutes when he first heard the sounds of commotion- the now-familiar sounds of a duel, followed by a set of cheers. He looked down at his map, then towards the park it seemed to be coming from, then shrugged and headed towards it.

Nothing could have prepared him for the spectacle. A duel, but unlike that he had ever seen- something enchanting, something like a stage production in all its spotlit glory- and a man at the center of it all, commanding attention like he’d still only dreamt of doing himself.

“Please,” he said, the words falling out before he could stop them, “teach me how to duel like you.”

The man glanced at him, startled, and then, before he could even take the time to introduce himself- “Well, I don’t see why not.”

_It’s magic, you see._

The next morning, he dressed himself in his own clothes, from his own closet. He assembled his own deck and tucked it neatly into his new disk. Dennis took one final glance at himself in the mirror, adjusted the collar of his shirt, then he opened the door and stepped out.

(He felt, finally, like himself again.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small confession: i originally started this collection to try and write shun and dennis with other people's characterizations. i really love seeing how other people see the same characters, so if the dennis from this chapter or, say, chapter two didn't seem like much of "my" dennis, it's because i like to try writing different versions of them, every once and a while.


	8. [tumblr] We all regret something.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They both have regrets. In this case, they happen to overlap.  
> Post-series.

“If you could do it again,” Shun asks, “would you do it differently?”

It is the question upon which forgiveness hangs. He has done what he can to make amends, to help heal, to undo what he has done- that much even Shun at his most vengeful could have seen.

And yet.

_ If he could do it again- _

“Everyone has regrets,” Dennis says, shrugging, offhand.The midday sun spills warm through the kitchen window and drenches him in light. Shun squints his eyes against it, tries to hide the frustration coiling low in his chest and restless at his fingertips. It’s not the answer that he wants to hear, and Dennis knows it.

It’s why he says it.

This, Shun thinks, is the part of dealing with Dennis that’s still infuriating, even after the apologies and the promises and talk of second chances. Dennis has always said exactly what he needed to hear, been exactly the person he needed him to be. Someone he could suspect as a spy. The one who stole away his sister. A face for all the anger he’s ever held towards Academia. For just a few turns, someone who could have been his rival.

“But if you regret it,” Shun pushes, deciding this is the day he’ll test his luck, “Why wouldn’t you do it over again?”

Dennis looks outside; Shun joins him at the counter and follows his gaze. Heartland  _ shines _ again, breathes with a life that’s more children’s laughter carrying on the wind than desperate cries, more the glitter and joy of dueling for smiles than the terror and steel of dueling for survival. He’s never stopped loving Heartland, fierce with a blazing pride that dwells close to his heart, but once again it’s become a place that he wants to protect.

And if he could do it all again, knowing what he knows now, then Yuuto and Ruri would be standing at his side, smiling like the old days in this Heartland reborn. He can see them, echoes lingering bright and haunting in the shadow of Yuzu and Yuuya- but it’s not the same.

Shun takes in the boy beside him, knuckles gone white from gripping the counter’s edge, and knows, _ knows _ that Dennis regrets his part in it. 

He says, finally, quiet, “You can’t keep asking me that, Kurosaki. Not now that I’m finally happy.”

Dennis releases this grip on the counter and walks out of his own apartment, leaving Shun staring after his back. The door slams, caught by the wind.

The apartment door leads down a few steps out to a small park, where a group of children are playing a game of pretend. Shun watches as their attention is stolen away, as they race towards the new arrival. When Dennis greets the children who’ve taken to calling him  _ teacher _ , it’s with an eager smile and an honest laugh at something that Shun can’t hear. He remembers something almost forgotten, instead.

Back in those early days, when suspicions had been only that, Shun had thought, once, caught up in rhythm of the duel-  _ we could be friends _ . 

_ Foolish, _ he had thought soon after. He’d only ended up proving himself right. Dennis had revealed himself as his enemy, and that is what they became.

(Now they’re nothing to each other but reminders of regret, and Shun doesn’t know what to think of that at all.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a personal favorite. to paste my original thoughts from tumblr:  
> post canon shun and dennis is such an interesting dynamic because even if yuuto and ruri do properly come back there's still going to be this weird period of time where dennis has so much and shun has so little, but they've both still got this sense that there's something more they should have been able to do. it's a whole different complicated than usual.


	9. [snippet] low tech/high tech (android au)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an android au that i 100% intend on coming back to eventually, which is simultaneously very low-tech and high-tech cyberpunk, somehow. they're somewhere in their 20s here, don't ask me exactly where
> 
> this is also episode two of "guess where i heard dennis' seiyuu this time"

The problem is, Shun isn’t actually qualified to repair an Enforcer-class android. No civilian engineer is, not when the price for just _touching_ one of these is half a life spent locked up and rotting away in the sewer-jails beneath the city. Shun doesn’t want to begin to think what they’d do to him for possession.

He spares a glance out at the front door, just visible out of the cracked back workshop door. It is, as expected, closed. Yuuto sits at the counter before it, toying with the circuitry of his arm. It’s quiet, their typical business at this rusting corner of the artificial island. But a silent night means nothing when it’s an android of this calibre. Sooner or later the calm will end, and they’ll be facing the storm of the Enforcers, searching for the broken one of their ranks-

“Whatever you can do would be appreciated,” comes a crackling voice from behind him.

Shun starts, and slams the workshop door closed as he whirls to face the source. “What?”

A small gurgle of static; the robotic approximation of a cough. Great, so there’s something wrong with the voice box, too. Shun adds it to his mental list.

“You’re a robotics engineer, aren’t you? Your lab is a little shabby, so I doubt you’ve very good, but anything you can fix would be helpful,” says the android. Shun scowls- even broken and left out for disposal, Enforcer-class AIs are still elitists. Even this back workshop of his is one of the best this side of the island, outclassed perhaps only by Rin’s on the other side of the scrapyard.

“I can fix everything,” Shun replies, because he can’t back down now. He’s quite confident he can, once he takes a proper look at things. It’s just a matter of finding parts of a high enough quality. He might need to owe Rin a favor, by the end of the repairs, but he knows he's up to the challenge.

“Like I said,“ says the android, and pointedly does not repeat itself, “whatever you’re capable of is fine.”

Shun bristles. “You’re not the first android I’ve taken apart.”

The android blinks, unimpressed. “I hope you've put a few of those back together.”

“All of them that could be salvaged.” The android doesn't reply to that. The android _does_ , however, try to sit up from where they're splayed across the long table, sending a few of Shun’s tools clattering to the ground with heavy thunks of metal against cement.

“Watch it,” Shun hisses, ducking down to pick up a few bolts that had rolled to his feet. Again, the android says nothing, just takes in the back workshop.

There's not much to see. Compared to their front room, with its wide, south-facing windows and warm wooden spaces, the cement and metal closet is about as claustrophobic and impersonal as a place can get. “How can you get anything done in here?”

“I do what I have to.” Really, Shun tends not to use this place much at all. It's a poor attempt at hiding their illegal work, compared to Rin’s false basement and intricate concealment mechanisms, but Rin is kind enough to take most of that work off their hands in the first place.

 Shun carefully sets everything back atop the table, and the android reclines again, thankfully without having to be asked. Unfortunately, that’s about the only thing Shun has to be thankful for from that point on. Shun works his way through the layers beneath the android’s chest plate, cursing every bit of amateur work that he encounters. If they were built like this, he thinks, no wonder they were left out for the scrap mills.

And through it all, the android feels compelled to try and make small talk with a crackling, irritating voice.

“You wouldn't rather go into sleep mode?” Shun snaps after the android’s hundredth little quip.

“Nope,” replies the android cheerily, “I know my own maintenance better than you do.”

Shun finds _another_ bolt attached at the wrong joint- a mistake anyone with more than two days of practice shouldn’t be making- and it all snaps into place. “You've been doing your own maintenance. Why?”

Enforcer-class androids are the island’s pride and joy- to anyone that's not a scavenger or a criminal, at least. Their facilities- and the researchers working on them- are state-of-the-art, the best of the best. For one to end up slated for disposal, presumably after attempting their own repairs is unthinkable under normal circumstances.

“Wouldn't you like to know,” the android replies, and stubbornly refuses to say any more.

 _Fine,_ Shun thinks. It's better this way- finally he can concentrate on his work instead of whatever idle chatter the android’s AI thinks is appropriate. In the silence, Shun doubles down and gets to work.

:::

Ruri comes home right around the time Shun finishes basic repairs, announcing herself with a cheery “back from Rin’s!” to match the jingle of the bells on the front door. Ruri makes a beeline for him immediately. “So? How did it go? What's their name?”

Shun finishes wiping his oil-slick hands on a dirty towel and throws it aside for the wash. “Fine. I'll need to make a lot of adjustments and a lot of trips to Rin’s, but I can do it.”

“And their name?”

Shun doesn't answer. Ruri frowns at him, in that subtly disappointed way of hers. “You did ask their name, didn't you?”

Shun starts to arrange things that don't need to be arranged on his main workbench. Ruri sighs. “Well if no one else is going to listen to the android, then I guess I will.”

“I did plenty of listening,” Shun mutters under his breath. If Ruri hears, she just ignores him and slips into the back workshop.

Yuuto chuckles from where he sits on the stool next to Shun. “You were really working on that android for six hours, and you didn't even ask their name?”

Shun gives Yuuto’s non-mechanical shoulder a light shove. “Shut up.”

Yuuto shuts up, but doesn’t attempt to tone down the incredulity of his look, any. Shun just ignores him. What matters is if he can _fix_ them, not if he knows their name. Besides. Ruri’s the one who picked them up off the street. He’ll hear it from her soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dennis' seiyuu is keebo in ndrv3! every time he spoke i could only hear dennis which was both a blessing and a curse because that robot says some very dennis things sometimes


	10. [snippet] overseers and whalebone (dishonored au)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a dishonored au. no knowledge of the games is required, just understand that magic is highly illegal and overseers are usually quite militant in hunting down heretics who believe in it. it's also really cool steampunk and has some of the best, most interesting lore i've seen in anything ever, but i digress.  
> again, everyone is somewhere in their 20s here
> 
> it's also a little ruri/yuuto?? i'm not sure how that happened but hey

The Overseers come knocking on their door on the sixth day of the Month of Rain. True to name, the rain is coming down hard, pelting at the sloped tiles of their ramshackle roof, echoing through the empty house.

Ruri pulls back from the peephole and puts on a pleasant face- though not _too_ pleasant. No one from this part of the city welcomes a visit from the Abbey of the Everyman and their zealous Overseers. Not even the innocents.

She opens the door, letting it swing open halfway with a rusty creak just as the Overseer huddled beneath the awning lifts their hand to knock again. She can’t see their face beneath the golden scowl of their mask; she does so hope that they’re irritated. She says, with all the airs of someone who’s just been pulled from something very important and would very much like to get back to it, “Is there something I can help you with, good Overseer?”

The Overseer, to his credit, doesn’t falter long. His voice is smooth and professional; it’s more than she can say for most of his kind that roam their streets at night. “While I’d like to say it’s pleasant business, I’m afraid I’m here on official investigation. Allegations of witchcraft, you see.”

There’s no point in pretending to look startled. It’s not the first time someone has thrown the Kurosaki name to the Overseers in a desperate bid for leniency on their own sentence. Ruri knows well that it won’t be the last. But in the end, it’s all a farce- even if the Overseers and their wolfhounds do manage to find something on them, all that will mean is four heretics to execute instead of one. Ruri shakes her head, and moves to usher the Overseer in. “I do wish they’d choose someone else to slander, every once in a while.”

“Ah,” the Overseer says, and Ruri latches on to his next words, “that would be nice, yes.”

So he’s sympathetic. That’s good. Sympathies can be played to in a way that apathy and suspicion cannot. She drops the act, replaces it with something much kinder, cutting closer to the truth without quite touching it. She’s gotten good at that- then again, she’s had a good teacher.

The Overseer paws carefully around their living room, careful to replace what he disturbs exactly where he found it. Because she knows he won’t find what he’s looking for- those trinkets of whalebone and runes singing with the power of the void- she appreciates his thorough care. He’s much better than the last Overseer they’d had in, a callous man who’d thrown around their furniture and left scuffs in the already worn wood of their floor.

He wanders into the kitchen, dutifully she follows him, ready to provide explanation when he freezes in the doorway. “What are these for?”

Ruri lets out a long, silent breath she refuses to call a sigh. She’d _told_ Shun to take them down to the cellar. If she wants it done, it seems she’ll have to do it herself. The whale oil tanks stacked one atop the other in the corner of their kitchen emit a luminescent blue glow, submerging their kitchen in a color not unlike the one found around back alley shrines. To the Overseer, she explains- “Whale oil tanks. My brother is trying to build us a generator. He’s worried about the plague, you see. We need power for our little business.”

She carefully does not mention that their ‘little business’ is the most profitable black market this side of the Wrenhaven. Their tiny little stand masquerading as a drugstore full of prettily colored water is front enough to warrant what he’s about to find.

The Overseer steps into the kitchen, heads not for the tanks but for the closet off in the corner. By now, surely he’s heard it too- the low, telltale hum of electricity, buzzing like walls of light that had sprung up around the city. To protect at-risk areas from the plague, is the official reason. Ruri knows as well as everyone else that it’s a lie. Someone, somewhere, is using all the political power they have to ready a stunt. She suspects that no one will like the results, but. Well. No one in this part of the city is a stranger to a fight.

While Ruri watches, the Overseer slowly opens the pantry door. There is, in fact, a generator in the pantry; it’s a ramshackle thing hooked up to a few half-depleted whale-oil tanks. The Overseer pokes around for a moment, but the entire thing looks volatile; he doesn’t dare disturb too much lest he trigger an explosion.

He shuts the door; Ruri wipes the knowing smile off her face. “Anything else I can help you with, Overseer…”

“Yuuto,” replies the Overseer, and Ruri quirks her head- that’s a familiar name. Familiar, but where had she- “And there is one last thing. You haven’t happened to see former Overseer Macfield?”

_Aha_ , Ruri thinks, _that’s the real reason he’s here._ Aloud, she says- “Only on half the wanted posters this side of town, sir.”

Again, Yuuto huffs out a laugh. It’s kind; the sneering face of his mask doesn’t seem to fit him. She wonders how he’d ever ended up with a group as ruthless as the Abbey. “Between rogue Overseers and heretical assassins… What’s the world coming to?”

“Indeed,” Ruri replies, then- “Is there no way I could persuade you to stay for dinner?”

“Unfortunately not,” Yuuto says, a smile in his tone. “Business with the High Overseer, you see.”

“What a shame,” Ruri says as she ushers him out, and thinks that it’s a little dangerous that under different circumstances, she could easily find herself meaning it.

She waits five minutes, ten- stirs whatever had been left to simmer on the stove and hopes dearly that none of the ingredients spread across the counter urgently need to go in.

It’s right as she’s pacing back to the front room that Dennis appears at her side in a haze of shadow that clings to his silhouette and dim blue light radiating from the mark on his hand, bright even through the brown leather glove. Ruri breathes in deep- for a moment, the air tastes of saltwater and ozone, hallmarks of the untouchable void. She shuts her eyes just a moment, and savors the construct of leviathans and desolate stone that’s she’s created from every one of Dennis’ whispered accounts.

She opens her eyes, but time is still moving slow and sluggish, the hands of the clock of gears in their living room reluctant to move. Shun hangs off Dennis’ arm, stumbling a bit from the landing of the transversal. When Dennis ‘blinks’ away with her, he usually gathers her up into his arms and lets her cling there, lets her savor the sudden sense of movement, of something like she imagines flying to be before there’s solid ground beneath their feet again. Shun, unfortunately, is too heavy, and still unused to this kind of magic.

“The Overseers are gone?” Dennis asks, and reality returns to its proper speed.

Shun pushes himself off Dennis, creating distance the moment he realizes Ruri is watching. Ruri tries and fails to hide a knowing huff of a laugh. It isn’t as if the two of them don’t share a room. Clinging to an arm during a transversal is hardly the most compromising position she could catch them in. Shun says, ignoring her, “It’s too late to be asking.”

“They’re gone.” Ruri and Dennis exchange a nod, then a glance at the kitchen. Not even the most foolhardy of Overseers has dare moved that rigged-up generator of theirs, never dared to poke at the deceptively loose floorboards to find the rich glow of the void seeping up from the shrine below.

“Then, I’m going to go finish dinner!” Dennis chirps, and retreats to finish whatever he’s making. Ruri sighs, unheard to anyone- she’ll have to tell Dennis that the new Overseer came looking for him eventually. But she supposes it can wait until after dinner. With such a sudden interruption, she doubts he plans to go out tonight.

At the table, Shun goes back to whittling a bonecharm. His last attempt had been a failure, prompted by Dennis returning home with a heavily bruised arm and a gash down the back of his shoulder.

“ _Took a fall,”_ he’d forced out with levity through grit teeth. They’d both had the sense not to ask why, but she’d heard the two of them talking that night, voices quiet in their bedroom- not next to Ruri’s, but the walls of this building are thin and tattered. When they’d eventually argued, it had been hard _not_ to overhear.

She knows that Shun wants a mark- wants that same void-kiss promise of magic that Dennis flaunts under the cover of night, out working on whatever last secret he’s still keeping from them. And she knows it kills him that no matter how many runes he scavenges from the sewers, no matter how many chunks of whalebone he whittles down until they sing- he won’t be able to match Dennis. Without a mark, they can’t stand on the same playing field, let alone fight alongside each other.

She knows, because it’s killing her, too.

Ruri doesn’t voice any of that. Instead she pulls out the chair across from him, rests her head in her hands, and watches him work. This one will be a success. Already she can hear strains of ancient music- _real_ ancient music, not that terrible parody that the Overseers crank from their music boxes- with every scrape Shun makes. What she says instead, finally, is- “I wish he’d be more careful.”

Shun laughs once, sharp, and carves away another scrap of bone. “I do too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> out of my eight shun/den wips i don't really mind leaving this one here, but it you want to see more just let me know. i can very easily be persuaded to write more shun/dennis content. especially combined with my favorite game franchise


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